The Other Side

Impulse (Ch. 2)

The morning sun shines through the Church's colored windows which are all displaying biblical images. I made sure to wake up several hours than I usually do to be here before work. I left David a note explaining where I am in case he wakes up and gets paranoid as he usually does. I suppose I could've come in late today and fed them some bullshit excuse, but as the bible states: thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. In other words: lying is against God's will, so I make it a habit not to.

The walls of the Church are a wooden white, with the exception of the brown columns and ceiling. I am currently sitting in the middle of a wooden row of seats. Seats that are all empty. This is my first time being in a church. The first time being in the house of God. I didn't imagine that it would be an experience to share by myself.

I look up ahead at the empty podium. Would a confession with a priest have been more effective than a therapist? Maybe. Or maybe I've been going about this all wrong. I look up at the cross hanging on the front wall of the building. I know it's sinful to have second thoughts, but over the past week, I've yet to notice any change, any sign. Not externally, obviously, but internally.

I hear footsteps. I look up from my lap and across from me and near the podium is what looks like a priest who has just come from the side door of the church. He makes it four feet before noticing me, which gives him a good scare. He looks to be around his seventies.

"My goodness!" He gasps. "What are you doing here, son?"

"Hi, Father," I say. "Tell me, why do we attend church on Sundays rather than Saturdays?"

He looks at me, confused. Then I watch his eyes roll near the back of his head to search for his answer.

"Well, Sunday is Sabbath day," he answers. "A day where God wants us to take a break from working and reflect. The perfect day to gather here and worship."

I nod.

"That's the answer most say, but do you know Sabbath day is actually Saturday? But once our recorded knowledge of the fact was surfaced, we ignored it because of major places like Rome who had already made Sunday the day of worship."

The priest just looks at me, perplexed. He attempts to start a sentence several times, but it's obvious he doesn't have an answer as to how I'm wrong. This may be the first he's hearing of the origins of such an important day. And he's supposed to be a priest?

"It makes me wonder just how much human error has fused with the word of God," I say before I get up.

I begin making my way out of the holy building. I can't help but think about what I just said. 'Human error.' Is it human error? Or is 'the word of God' nothing more than a red hearing created by us humans. That is a very good question.

...

The thought never left. Not when I made it to work, not when I went to bed that night, and not now as I attend my second therapy session. Last night I didn't pray. It felt odd, especially since it's become a habit. Figured there's no point praying since God undoubtedly sees into my head. He knows about my doubts. I don't know what to do. Hell, I don't even know what to think.

"You still with me, Jack?" Frank asks across from me.

I am once again in his well-kept office. The nervousness I felt from my last visit is no longer present, and I don't entirely know why. He can still figure enough out about me to get concerned. And with concern from someone of his occupation comes a straight jacket.

"Yeah, I'm here," I mutter. "Hey, I have a question for you, Frank."

"A question for me?" Frank says with a surprised expression. "Well, go for it."